


Birthday's Eve

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fourth Age, Humor, Implied slash L/G.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2003-08-19
Packaged: 2018-03-23 09:10:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3762537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the eve of his son’s birthday, Aragorn is finding life as King of Gondor somewhat stressful. Could a day with two old friends be the answer? Sequel to “The Gift”. Warning: Implied slash L/G.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

In the course of his long and eventful life, Aragorn had faced many opponents – orcs, uruk-hai, wargs, even wraiths – but he was beginning to realise that his Chief Councillor, Lanhelm, was amongst the most determined of his protagonists. The man was relentless and what made it even worse was that he was meant to be on Aragorn’s side. When it came to choosing weapons, Aragorn had always favoured the broadsword, but Lanhelm’s armoury contained nothing more than quill pens and parchment.

“The ceremony will begin at midday, Sire, but I feel that, given the complexity of the proceedings, it would be as well to have a rehearsal in the morning.”

Aragorn sighed in exasperation. “A rehearsal? Is that really necessary?”

Lanhelm glanced down at the sheaf of papers in his hand. “There are certain protocols that have to be observed, Sire. We would not want to make a mistake, would we? Not in front of all the guests.”

“It’s only a birthday celebration, Lanhelm.” Aragorn bent to pick up the saddlebags and his cloak. “Surely we do not have to go through all the formalities for a child’s first birthday.” He began to walk towards the door. Lanhelm followed in his wake, struggling to keep up with the King’s long stride.

“But this is not just any child. The whole of the Reunified Kingdom wishes to celebrate Prince Eldarion’s birthday, my lord and the ceremonies must be strictly observed if—”

“I will talk to you about it later,” said Aragorn. He could see his friends standing in the doorway and he was determined not to keep them waiting any longer.

“But Sire, we have to arrange the seating plan for the banquet and you have yet to authorise—”

“Later!”

“But what about the musicians and the dancers and…?” Aragorn allowed the seemingly endless litany to wash over him as he walked across the hallway. Lanhelm had kept him busy since breakfast with the minutiae of government and he was running out of patience.

“I will be back this afternoon, Lanhelm, and we can discuss it all then.” If he could just get out of the door, surely the dratted man wouldn’t follow him out to the stables. “Goodbye!”

In a last desperate attempt, Lanhelm held out a long piece of parchment towards the King. “Sire, you must read this before you leave. It could be vital if you talk to the Ambassador from Harad and—”

As he walked, Aragorn half-turned and snatched the paper out of the man’s hand. “Thank you, Lanhelm. Since it is so important, I will take it with me.” The door was so close now. Just a few more strides…

“But it is confidential, my lord! I cannot allow the document out of the palace.”

“Goodbye!” Aragorn was almost jogging now.

“Sire?”

The King swept out of the door. Lanhelm took a step out into the open, blinking in the sunlight. “Perhaps if your bodyguards were with you…” He started to walk after the tall figure.

He was brought up short by hands gripping his shoulders from behind.

“But we are!”

He turned and looked down to find himself staring into intensely dark eyes in a bearded face that, whilst smiling cheerfully at that moment, had the potential, Lanhelm felt, to turn angry.

“We promise to take good care of him and return him in one piece.” He had to look up to meet the second speaker’s eyes – disconcertingly bright eyes that seemed to see straight through him.

“Oh! My lords, I really think…” began Lanhelm but he found himself steered back through the door.

“Two pieces at the very most. Now off you go!” With a gentle shove, Lanhelm was propelled back indoors and the door pulled shut firmly in his face. He could hear voices, tenor and bass, receding on the other side.

“At last! I thought he’d never get away!”

“And I was told as a youngster, punctuality is the politeness of princes.”

“Who told you that?”

“Someone who had never met you, obviously!”

“Me? Since when did I ever keep you waiting?

The voices passed out of Lanhelm’s hearing. Oh well, he thought to himself. If those two are with him, he can’t come to any harm. Can he?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the eve of his sons birthday, Aragorn is finding life as King of Gondor somewhat stressful. Could a day with two old friends be the answer? Sequel to The Gift. Warning: Implied slash L/G.

Aragorn and his companions completed the walk to the stables without any hindrance and waited whilst the King’s horse was saddled. A second horse – a chestnut with long, slender legs and a delicate, dished face – bore no saddle or bridle.

“I am sorry to have kept you waiting for so long,” said Aragorn. He stood tapping one foot impatiently as the groom checked the girth for the third time. “It can be very difficult to get away from my officials.”

“So we saw!” laughed Legolas.

“Do not let it worry you, Aragorn,” said Gimli. “Anything that delays me having to climb up on that thing is welcome, as far as I’m concerned.” He was eyeing the unsaddled horse with a look of deep mistrust.

“Oh, now Gimli, you said you wouldn’t complain. And you mustn’t call her a ‘thing’. She understands every word, you know. Don’t you, Laeriel?” Legolas stroked the mare’s neck affectionately. The horse turned her elegantly sculpted head and buffeted the Elf’s shoulder.

“Even when I insult her in Dwarvish?”

“Especially when you insult her in Dwarvish!” Legolas put his hands on the mare’s withers and jumped, effortlessly swinging one leg over the horse. He settled himself on her back and then spoke quietly. She walked over to a mounting block and both horse and Elf looked expectantly at Gimli. The dwarf sighed and, with the air of one much put upon, stomped towards the mounting block. Aragorn held out a hand to help him up onto the wooden slab.

“For goodness’ sake, man. I don’t need any help getting up on this! Do you think perhaps, that I need a mounting block to get on the mounting block? Honestly!”

Aragorn turned away smiling and mounted his own horse. When he turned back Gimli was in place behind the Elf, clinging on with both arms round his friend’s waist. Aragorn wasn’t quite sure whether Gimli was genuinely as frightened as he made out or whether he simply enjoyed having an excuse to put his arms round Legolas. He suspected the latter.

The destination that Aragorn had in mind when he had arranged the ride with Legolas and Gimli was a lake in the foothills of the White Mountains – close enough for it to be a safe journey, but far enough for them to get well away from the prying eyes of Aragorn’s officials.

“Come on then,” he said urging his horse forward. The bay stallion snorted and skittered sideways for a few steps. Aragorn was keeping him on a very tight rein and his caution was understandable; the tall horse was a powerhouse of muscle who seemed ready to surge into a flat gallop at the least provocation.

“Oh gods!” Gimli buried his face in Legolas’s back as the stallion’s nervous prancing brought him close to the chestnut mare, but Laeriel simply took a step backwards, quite unflustered. She seemed a model of obedience in contrast to the stallion’s fiery wilfulness.

At length Aragorn managed to persuade his horse to move in the right direction and he led the companions down through the paths and streets to the city gates. Once outside, he allowed the stallion to stretch his legs into a canter. The smaller horse followed steadily at a trot.

“Tell me again why we are doing this,” said Gimli, the pitch of his voice wavering up and down with the horse’s gait.

“Because it is pleasurable,” laughed the Elf.

“Drinking ale is pleasurable. Smoking good pipeweed is pleasurable. This is merely an excellent way of jarring every bone in your body.”

“That is because you are so tense, Elvellon. If you relax, you will find that you move naturally with the horse and then you will enjoy it. Anyway, you did not complain when we rode from Ithilien to Minas Tirith the day before yesterday.”

“Exactly! We rode from Ithilien to Minas Tirith. There was a purpose in our journey. Today we are riding from Minas Tirith to Minas Tirith. Pointless!”

“I am quite sure that Aragorn will feel better for it. It will do him good to get away from his duties at the palace for a few hours.”

“Oh, we are doing this entirely for his benefit, are we? You won’t enjoy it in the slightest, eh?” Gimli dug his fingers into the Elf’s ribs teasingly.

“I assure you the day will be an excruciating torture for me,” said Legolas with a martyred expression. “You know how much I loathe riding fast horses.”

“Yes, your hatred of riding is matched only by your abhorrence of red wine!”

“And my intense dislike of amorous dwarves!”

“Indeed! Now I think that we ought to speed up. Aragorn is leaving us behind.”

“First you are complaining that you are on a horse and now you are moaning that she is not going fast enough!”

“I just don’t want to lose sight of Aragorn. That animal of his is a menace. I’m sure he doesn’t have the slightest control over it. Come on!”

With a click of his tongue, Legolas urged the chestnut into a gallop. She stretched her long, slim legs and raced onwards, nostrils wide, tail and mane snapping back. Conversation became impossible. Gimli, his arms tightening around Legolas, could feel the Elf’s body practically humming with excitement as they sped along. The mare was closing the gap on the stallion rapidly, her easy, flowing stride eating up the ground.

They slowed as they reached Aragorn, who was still struggling to control the big horse. The animal seemed determined to go in any direction except the one Aragorn desired. The King’s face was a mask of concentration as he hauled on the reins. Sweat had broken out across his forehead, his jaw muscles stood out as he clenched his teeth. So much for a relaxing day of riding!

At length he shouted out, “I’m going to give him his head for a while.”

“I thought you already had!” laughed Legolas.

Ignoring the jibe, Aragorn continued, “Maybe it will help him to settle down.” Legolas and Gimli watched as Aragorn allowed the horse to choose his own pace and direction.

“I am glad to have you with me today, Legolas.”

“And I you, Elvellon,” said the Elf, turning and smiling warmly at Gimli.

“Oh, yes,” said Gimli. “After all, the speed Aragorn is going, he’ll beyond the range of dwarvish sight in a few seconds.”

Legolas’s face fell. “And there was I thinking dwarves could be romantic.”

Gimli chuckled and then, in a more serious tone, asked, “Is Aragorn really safe on that beast?” He shaded his eyes with one hand and studied the horse and rider.

“Aragorn is an excellent horseman, Gimli. He’ll not fall.”

The dwarf looked doubtful. “It scarcely seems tame!”

“Well, he is a young stallion, full of liveliness. Did you see the size of the muscles in his quarters? A great deal of potential there, but as yet, not a lot of experience.”

“We are still talking about the horse, aren’t we?”

“Gimli!”

“Sorry! I couldn’t resist,” Gimli grinned. “You know, I’ve never seen Aragorn have such a battle with a horse before.”

“The problem is that Aragorn does not have his emotions under control. The horse senses his rider’s anger and frustration, and it makes him even more restless.”

“You are telling me that a horse’s behaviour is dictated by the mood of its rider?”

“Yes indeed! Had you not realised that?”

“No!” said Gimli shaking his head thoughtfully. “So all those times when we rode on Arod together…”

“Yes…?”

“He could tell what we were feeling?”

“Certainly!”

Gimli thought a little more. “That was very early in our…friendship, wasn’t it?”

“Oh yes!” Legolas was smiling with fond recollection of those days when he and Gimli were just beginning to explore the many possible ways in which the rift between Elves and dwarves could be healed.

“To think Arod knew what was going through our minds as we galloped along!” said Gimli.

“Mmm,” the Elf murmured. “Just as well he was a gelding!”

Legolas could feel the dwarf behind him shaking with laughter.

“So,” Gimli continued at length, “what does this horse sense about us?”

“Well, she knows we are contented and relaxed, so she is contented and relaxed.”

“How can I be relaxed? I’m on a horse!”

“She knows full well, Gimli, that secretly you adore horse-riding and that the only reason you complain is that you feel it is expected of you. She knows that the day before you go riding, you get a pencil and paper and make a note of several handcrafted curses and complaints. Then you practise saying them over and over until they sound convincing. When you get on the horse the next day, you recite your list, Aragorn rolls his eyes, I say “Oh Gimli!” and everyone is happy.”

Gimli’s jaw dropped. “My word!” he managed at last. “I never imagined that a horse could be so perceptive! The truth is out at last!”

Laeriel had slowed to a walk now and Legolas saw no need to urge her on. Aragorn would come back to them once his horse had got the jitters out of his hooves. The early morning clouds had lifted so that the weather was quite perfect. The Elf tilted his face to the sun and closed his eyes, letting the warmth caress his skin. He crossed his arms over Gimli’s as they entwined his waist. Truly it was a wonderful day. Gimli couldn’t help but smile at the Elf’s obvious happiness. Legolas was completely at ease, moving comfortably with the rocking motion of the horse’s stride.

“So tell me, Legolas. Since you have discovered my secret love of horse-riding, can I ask you a question?”

“Mmm.” Gimli felt the affirmation as a rumble in the Elf’s body more than hearing it.

“Your intense loathing of deep, dark mines – is it, in fact, a clever subterfuge?”

Legolas nodded. “Yes, a complete act.”

“So, in the Mines of Moria…?”

“Yes?”

“The hesitant steps were…?”

“Merely an affectation.”

“I see. And the wide eyes?

“What can I say? It was dark.”

“The goose bumps?”

“It was cold.”

“The sweating? The trembling in every muscle?”

“Suppressed excitement.”

“The pale face?”

“My natural complexion.”

“The whimpering noises?”

“I think Boromir had trodden on my foot at that point.”

Gimli snorted. “Boromir must have been excessively clumsy on a repeated basis from what I can remember.” He paused for a moment and said, with exaggerated enthusiasm, “So, next time you visit me in the Glittering Caves we can sleep in my bedroom, rather than that one I had specially constructed for you. You know, the one I had built near the surface with the high ceiling and the very, very large windows. The windows you dragged the bed across to. Hmmm? The windows that you insisted should be open at all times, even when it rained.”

Underneath his arms Gimli could feel the Elf’s muscles tense, just a little.

“Oh, but you went to so much trouble for me, mellon-nin. It would be most ungrateful not to sleep in that room after so much time and effort had been—”

“No! It was no trouble really. And my bedroom is next to some particularly fascinating deposits of quartz. I would like you to see them. Of course, such deposits are only to be expected so very, very deep underground. Oh dear, Legolas! Has someone trodden on your foot again?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the eve of his sons birthday, Aragorn is finding life as King of Gondor somewhat stressful. Could a day with two old friends be the answer? Sequel to The Gift. Warning: Implied slash L/G.

“You’ve got the angle wrong!”

“No, no, no! It’s all in the wrist action, my dear Elf.”

“Look, it’s too big and you are doing it too hard. It will not work like that! Gimli, let me show you.”

Aragorn emerged from behind the trees where he had tied his horse and, stepping up to the edge of the lake, was mightily relieved to find that Gimli and Legolas were only skimming stones.

“No! I can manage, thank you!” Gimli picked up a round rock and effortlessly lobbed into the middle of the lake.

“One!” he shouted.

Legolas sighed, closed his eyes and said, as if addressing a small and somewhat backward child, “That was not a skim. That was a… a…well, whatever it was it was not a skim.”

“One!” insisted Gimli, sturdy arms folded across his chest.

“Very well!” Legolas opened his eyes and, having glared at the dwarf, began to look for a suitable stone. Aragorn settled himself down and began to unpack the saddlebags. The Elf picked up, inspected and rejected several stones before eventually choosing a thin, flat one. He held it up so that Gimli could see it. He moved it round in his fingers so that the dwarf could appreciate its qualities.

“You see, Gimli?”

“Yes. Limestone.”

“No, no! It does not matter what type of rock you use. The shape is what is important.”

“Oh really? I’ll bring some pumice for you to try next time.”

Legolas muttered something in Sindarin that made Aragorn look up sharply. The Elf didn’t often swear, so when he did, he made sure he got his money’s worth.

Moving close to the edge of the water, Legolas crouched slightly, brought his arm back and, with his characteristic grace and economy of movement, sent the stone bouncing across the surface of the water. He straightened up and smiled brightly.

“Six!”

Gimli looked steadily at the Elf for a few seconds, as if coming to a decision. He bent down to look for a good stone. After a moment he stood up carrying what could only be described as a small boulder. Turning his back on the lake, Gimli took the huge rock and began to swing it with straight arms, down between his knees and up to waist height. After a few leisurely swings, he launched the missile over his head with a grunt. The boulder sailed high into the air and seemed to hang for a moment before plummeting down into the shallows. A vast spray of water emerged, drenching Legolas, who had not had the presence of mind to move away from the edge. Gimli turned round to survey his handiwork.

“One!” he cried, arms upraised in a victory salute.

Legolas was standing motionless. His smile had a brittle quality to it now. A fine spray covered his face, droplets hanging heavy on his eyelashes. Drips of water chased each other down the length of his braids.

Aragorn, studying the Elf’s face, reflected for a moment. ‘Dear Gloin’ he would have to write. ‘It is with the deepest regret that I have to inform you that your son has met his death in an unfortunate accident.’ The Elf lowered his head slowly to examine his clothes and shoes. ‘Your son’s last words were, “Can I help you off with those wet leggings?”’

Aragorn braced himself for an explosion from the Elf, but it didn’t happen. Legolas pointedly ignored Gimli and walked serenely over to where the King was sitting. Without a word, he began to help Aragorn set out the food and drink for lunch. The man looked closely at his friend – Legolas seemed perfectly tranquil. His movements, as he picked some cheese and apples out of the bag, were smooth and slow. The white knuckles and clenched jaw that Aragorn had expected were conspicuous by their absence. Out of the corner of his eye, Aragorn could see Gimli, standing poised to run, but the Elf was paying him no attention whatsoever. Legolas, having emptied the bag, sat cross-legged and cut a slice of bread from a loaf.

“Do we have any honey, please, Aragorn?”

This King passed the jar almost hesitantly.

“Thank you kindly.”

Aragorn silently continued the letter of condolence. ‘The details of your son’s death are unclear, but is seems he somehow choked to death on a honey sandwich.’ However, as he watched Legolas spread the honey and take a bite, his fears seemed unfounded. The Elf was genuinely intent on enjoying his food. The fact that he was sitting in a gradually expanding puddle didn’t seem to be troubling him.

“What are the plans for Eldarion’s birthday celebrations?” asked Legolas cheerfully.

At the edge of the lake, Aragorn could see Gimli wavering, drawn by the prospect of a meal but still nervous at the possibility that Legolas would launch an assault.

“I gather there are going to be a great many guests,” prompted Legolas.

“Too many guests altogether, if you ask me,” answered Aragorn. “The whole thing has got out of hand. ”

The King could not but help admire the Elf’s strategy. Gimli knew full well that Legolas would retaliate. It was unthinkable that an Elven prince would take a dousing from anyone, not least a dwarf, without launching a counter-attack. The Elf’s genius was to keep Gimli waiting. The strike would come, and Aragorn could sense that Legolas had the upper hand now. Gimli would be unable to fully relax for the rest of the day.

“How so?” asked Legolas between mouthfuls.

“My original intention,” Aragorn continued, “was to have a small family party and invite a few guests – you and erm… Gimli, obviously.” Aragorn nodded with slight embarrassment at the dwarf who had taken a few hesitant steps forward.

Legolas smiled and nodded, but cast not the smallest glance at Gimli.

“Unfortunately Lanhelm and his team of officials took over and now it is going to be the biggest event since my wedding. Everyone in Gondor seems to have been invited to the ‘Birthday Banquet’. And we mustn’t forget all the visitors from neighbouring lands as well. It’s going to be a circus, I can tell you. Eldarion will scream his head off and quite frankly I think I’ll be joining in!”

“And all this on top of the trade negotiations with Harad.” Legolas shook his head sympathetically, tiny droplets cascading from his hair. “I could see before we set out that you we at the end of your tether.”

“I lost sight of the end of my tether days ago, Legolas. I was hoping you would cast your Elven eyes to the far horizon for me and see if you could spot it!”

Legolas chuckled and took a huge bite of his bread and honey. Aragorn picked up a wineskin and squirted the wine expertly into his mouth. If Arwen had been present, he thought, she would have been disgusted by such drinking habits.

“Did we bring any beer?” Gimli had finally plucked up courage to join in the picnic, his fear of the Elf outweighed by the growling of his stomach.

Legolas, his mouth full, gestured towards a small brown bottle.

“Oh yes, thank you.”

Gimli picked up the bottle and sat down on the edge of a small rock. Normally, Aragorn thought, Gimli would have sat as close to Legolas as it was possible to get without actually sitting on him. The two were notoriously affectionate. How many times had he told them off for playing footsie during important state banquets? But now Gimli was perched nervously several feet from Legolas. Aragorn got the feeling that the dwarf was still ready to leap away and run for it if the Elf so much as twitched.

“Your Chief Councillor is certainly a conscientious man,” said Legolas, putting down his bread and fastidiously licking honey off his fingers. “He pays attention to details. I’m sure he has your best interests at heart.”

“Don’t get me wrong; Lanhelm is a good man, a superb administrator – but he has no idea that there are other things in my life apart from the duties of government.” Aragorn looked disconsolate. “I really haven’t spent as much time with Eldarion as I want to over the last few weeks. This is the first time I’ve been out for a ride in a month! I expected the first years in Minas Tirith to be hectic but now I’ve been on the throne for almost a decade and it isn’t getting any easier. There’s always something else to organise, always another decision to make. I seem to be on duty every hour of every day.”

Legolas’s face was full of concern. “I see,” he said. “What is the phrase my father uses…? Even when a king takes off his crown, he is still wearing it. Cake, Gimli?” he held out a slice of fruitcake to the dwarf.

Eating cake before finishing our bread, thought Aragorn. Arwen would definitely have had a fit. Gimli looked suspiciously at the slice of cake.

“Erm…thank you.” He took it gingerly as if it might bite him rather than the other way round. Aragorn reflected that the Elf had had a great deal of experience in this kind of battle. How did Legolas once describe himself? What was it now? The spare, spare, spare, spare heir to the Throne of Mirkwood. So that would mean, how many brothers? Four? Four brothers and several centuries of sibling rivalry – Aragorn didn’t envy Gimli his position.

“Aragorn? Cake?” Legolas’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Mmm, please. Lots.”

There were a few minutes of satisfied munching. Having finished his cake, Gimli got up from his seat to search for something else to eat. He cut a thick slice from the loaf that Legolas had started. Placing a huge wedge of cheese on top, he sat and began to wolf it down. This time he chose to sit a little closer to the Elf. Legolas spent a few seconds lightening the load in the wineskin, took a bite out his piece of cake and then began to untie the braids in his hair. Nervously, Gimli watched as Legolas untangled the pale strands and squeezed out a few drops of water – a mouthful of food remained unchewed in the dwarf’s mouth. But the Elf merely combed out the hair with his fingers, fanning out the long strands to allow them to dry. He made no comment. His face was perfectly calm. Relaxing a little, Gimli resumed his meal.

“Would it be possible for you to delegate some of your duties?” Legolas asked before taking another bite of cake. He then unbuttoned his tunic, slipped it off and stood up to lay it over a rock in the sun. The shirt he was wearing underneath was almost completely dry.

“I try to, but somehow it always seems to be me who has to make the final decision. It’s always my signature that’s needed on yet another bloody piece of paper.” Aragorn reached into his saddlebag and produced the document that Lanhelm had given to him that morning. “And there’s always so much to read!”

Legolas sat down next to Gimli and draped an arm over his shoulders. The dwarf’s eyes widened a little, but the movement seemed innocent enough. It wasn’t as if Legolas was holding anything in that hand. Was he? Aragorn smiled to himself – Legolas was toying with the dwarf and, what is more, he could keep it up for hours. Days even. Perhaps it would be the middle of next week when retribution came. But come it most certainly would.

“Anyway,” he continued, tossing the parchment into the middle of the picnic, “I can’t trust everyone like I can trust Lanhelm. Some of those junior officials need to be watched.”

“Really?”

“Oh… well, perhaps I’m being overly cautious. It’s just that the young councillor who came to see me yesterday about the arrangements for the visit of Lord…” Aragorn waved one hand vaguely in the air. “Lord Thingummybob. This councillor was…well, let’s just say I expect he hasn’t even started shaving yet!”

“Don’t say the ‘S’ word in front of Gimli!” cried Legolas, covering the dwarf’s ears with his hands. Gimli’s flinch was so small as to almost unnoticeable, but Legolas seemed in genuine good humour. Gimli placed a hand affectionately on the Elf’s knee – a rather damp knee, now that he came to notice it.

Aragorn laughed. It felt good to talk about his troubles with those two. There were not many people in the world with whom he could speak like this. Arwen, naturally, was his confidante, but nowadays, Aragorn reflected, they seemed to talk almost exclusively about Eldarion. No one had warned him that, when a baby arrives, a marriage is never the same again; still wonderful, of course, but not quite the same. The mother’s attention is diverted from her husband to her child. The couple is a couple no more. Two becomes three, and although Aragorn had heard that three people in a relationship could be entertaining in some circumstances, he felt that this wasn’t one of them.

Perhaps that’s what was really bothering him, he thought. Not the governance of his country, but his place in his own family. His duties as King meant that he could not spend as much time with Eldarion as he would have liked. It was inevitable, unavoidable, but it meant that sometimes days would go by and he would catch little more than a glimpse of his son. There were times when he felt that Arwen and Eldarion had a world of their own, a world in which he was but a peripheral figure. He sighed.

Legolas noticed his friend’s dejected face and decided to change the subject. “We are looking forward to giving Eldarion his present tomorrow, aren’t we Gimli?”

“Oh, yes, very much so. You wouldn’t believe the difficulty we had in choosing something appropriate. Took us ages, it did. We went through a whole list! It caused such an argument!”

Aragorn frowned. “I hope you two weren’t at each other’s throats again.”

“Well, in a manner of speaking…” began Legolas.

“And did you enjoy your stay in Ithilien, Gimli?” said Aragorn before either of them could elaborate.

“Yes, yes, I had a wonderful time. Ate too much, drank too much and lazed about all day long. Superb! Just what I needed! Mind you, I’m still getting used to the idea of sleeping in a house built in the branches of a tree. It was quite stormy last week. You wouldn’t believe how much the bedroom moves in the night.”

“One does one’s best,” murmured Legolas with quiet satisfaction.

Aragorn rolled his eyes. There was no stopping the Elf when he was in this mood.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The three friends helped themselves to more food and drink. The picnic was simple but much appreciated. A welcome contrast, thought Aragorn, to the fussy food he had become accustomed to eating at official functions. Gimli made a small campfire; not for the warmth – the afternoon was gloriously sunny – but for the sake, he insisted, of making toast. For a while he sat happily toasting pieces of bread on the end of a stick and then smothering them with obscene quantities of honey.

“You know,” he said at length, with a look of infinite wisdom. “You two govern your lands in the same way as you ride your horses.”

Aragorn and Legolas exchanged glances and turned to Gimli.

“Eh?”

“Would you care to elaborate, my dear dwarf?”

Gimli reached over to the saddlebag and began to root through the pockets. “Well, think about it for a minute.” Gimli produced a pipe and packet of pipeweed. “Arago… sorry… King Elessar labours night and day in the service of his kingdom. He oversees every detail of administration, signs every piece of paper, attends every meeting.”

“Yes?” said Aragorn slowly.

“His diary is full. He feels that he is indispensable. He has not had a day of rest in the last two months.” Gimli offered the packet to Aragorn who had found his own pipe. “King Elessar is exhausting himself because his feels he has to keep a very tight grip on the governance of his country. His advisors can be difficult. He has to fight all the way, just like he had to fight that horse all the way from Minas Tirith.”

“It wasn’t all the way—” began Aragorn, but Gimli was in full flow.

“Whereas Legolas here has a totally different approach.”

“Mmm?” the Elf’s eyes narrowed.

“When he rides a horse he doesn’t even bother with reins. He just sits there, completely relaxed, enjoying the ride.”

“Are you suggesting—?”

“It’s the same when he’s ruling his colony in Ithilien. Have you noticed he never actually organises anything, Aragorn? A few Elves will turn up and they’ll have a chat and a glass of wine, and someone will mention this and that, and Legolas will suggest vaguely that they could, perhaps, do such-and-such – maybe, possibly – but he never actually makes a decision. He never tells anyone what to do.”

The Elf’s naturally pale face had become, if it were possible, a little paler.

“I’m not saying things don’t get done, Legolas,” reassured Gimli, intent upon tamping down the weed in his pipe. “It’s just that you never seem to be actively ruling.”

“I beg your pardon?” The Elf was sitting bolt upright now.

“As someone who knows you both well, I can see quite clearly that King Elessar of Gondor has a more dynamic and forceful style of leadership than Lord Leggles of Ithilien.”

That’s it, thought Aragorn. First Gimli soaks Legolas and now he’s just called him Leggles. We are going to be taking the dwarf home on a stretcher!

“I’m not saying that being dynamic is a good thing, mind you,” Gimli continued relentlessly as he lit his pipe. “After all, King Elessar is the one who is exhausted while old Leggy here is full of energy.”

My word, thought Aragorn. I’ve never noticed before how the tendons in Legolas’s neck stand out. Leggy? Maybe they would have to gather the pieces of dwarf together before they could be assembled on the stretcher.

“I think,” said Aragorn hastily, “that what Gimli is trying to say, in his own inimitable fashion, is… that your style of leadership is more subtle than mine, Legolas. That you are better than I at delegating responsibility.”

“Am I?” Gimli looked up from his pipe and, at last, noticed Legolas’s face. The Elf’s expression put him in mind of King Thranduil the first time he had caught sight of him and Legolas holding hands. “Erm, yes. Absolutely! Well put, Aragorn. ‘Subtle.’ Exactly right.”

“Yes, and of course,” added Aragorn, “you have known your advisors for many hundreds of years. They knew you as a Prince of Mirkwood long before you created the colony in Ithilien. They have learned to anticipate your wishes. By Elven standards I am relatively new to the role. I have to be more forceful with my councillors. They are still getting to know me.”

The Elf looked very slightly mollified.

“And we must also remember,” said Gimli in measured tones, “that it is much easier for Legolas to have a relaxed attitude towards his government. After all, Legolas is in charge of a pretty little colony of harmless wood-elves, while King Elessar rules over the vast and diverse countries of the Reunified Kingdom.”

Aragorn almost bit through his pipe.

“So to continue your horse-riding metaphor,” Legolas said in a slow, careful voice, “you are saying that the Little Mare of Ithilien is trivial to control in comparison with the Mighty Stallion of Gondor.”

“Exactly!” cried Gimli at the same moment as Aragorn said, “Not quite!”

“I think I’ll go and check on the horses,” said Legolas, standing up in one smooth movement.

Gimli’s hand snaked out and caught the Elf by the wrist.

“Legolas!” he growled.

The Elf made a half-hearted attempt to free his arm.

“Legolas! You know very well that I am only trying to vex you.”

“Congratulations, Gimli! You have succeeded admirably,” said Legolas, staring moodily out across the lake.

“Come on.” The dwarf tugged gently on the Elf’s wrist. “Sit down, sit down.” The dwarf’s voice became wheedling. “Legolas, please? You know I admire what you have done in Ithilien. Come on, now.”

Legolas turned his gaze on the dwarf at last. “Tell me,” he said as he allowed himself to be pulled back down, “why on earth did I give you the nick-name ‘Elf-Friend’?”

“If you’re very lucky, I’ll remind you tonight!” said Gimli grinning wickedly and waggling his bushy eyebrows.

“Gimli!” Legolas swiftly cuffed the side of Gimli’s head. Gimli responded with an elbow in the ribs. Maybe I should go and check on the horses, thought Aragorn as the Elf and dwarf playfully pushed and shoved each other. Aragorn busied himself with having a drink and slicing some more cheese. By the time he had finished, his companions had stopped their affectionate rough and tumble.

“To be serious for a moment,” Gimli continued, realising that he still had some ground to make up with Legolas. “I do have the utmost respect for what you have achieved in Ithilien. You and your Elves have transformed the place. It is true that you do not actually do that much in the way of commanding your people, but that is because you don’t have to. You don’t need to. All the Elves in Ithilien followed you there because they love and respect you. You have nothing to prove to them. Every single one of them is as old as the hills and what they don’t know about living in a forest isn’t worth knowing. There isn’t the slightest need for you to be a domineering leader, Legolas, because your Elves don’t require it. They know perfectly well what to do. Take that second-in-command of yours – Airufil…Aerovil…”

“Eruviluion.”

“Eruviluion! Exactly, now did you have the slightest hesitation in leaving… what’s-his-name in charge and coming with me to Minas Tirith? Of course not! Why should you? You’ve known each other since you were both saplings—”

“Elflings!”

“Sorry, Elflings, and you trust him with your life. You know that Eru-thingy will make the right decision. It’s the same with all of them. You can trust them.”

Legolas nodded slowly. “Perhaps you are right.” He smiled. Sapling! Come to think of it, that would be rather an appropriate term for a baby wood-elf.

“Of course I am,” said Gimli. “It’s just that you have never thought about it in those terms. Now Aragorn, you’re in a different situation and you have a different strategy, but I’m saying that it could be of benefit for you to take a more…a more Leggy-like style of leadership.”

The Elf winced at the mention of the distasteful sobriquet but let it pass.

“There is something in what you say about my style of leadership,” Aragorn admitted reluctantly. “I do find it hard to delegate. I do try to keep too tight a control over everything that is going on. I may lay the blame on Lanhelm, but the only person responsible for my hectic schedule is me.”

Both Legolas and Gimli were nodding encouragingly.

“Perhaps I should make more effort to make less effort, if you see what I mean.”

“It’s worth thinking about at the very least,” said Gimli.

Yes, thought Aragorn, for the sake of Eldarion and Arwen as much as my own. He picked up the document that his Chief Councillor had given to him that morning. “And I must also make it abundantly clear to Lanhelm that when I take a day’s holiday, I do not want to be bothered by all this!” Aragorn waggled the parchment in the air.

“Hear, hear!” said Gimli.

“Absolutely!” said Legolas.

“And we do not need a rehearsal for the birthday celebrations tomorrow!” Aragorn continued.

“Bravo!” cried Gimli.

“Hooray!” cried Legolas. They were both applauding.

“And one of my junior officials can discuss the new tax arrangements with the Elves in Ithilien!”

“Yes!” said Gimli.

“Tax!” shrieked Legolas. “Tax! Tax? What tax? We do not pay—”

Aragorn howled with laughter at the Elf’s horror-struck expression.

“But when it comes to the job of Elf-baiting, Legolas, I will steadfastly refuse to delegate to anyone. It’s far too much fun.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Thereafter the beer and wine disappeared rapidly and if anyone had passed by the lake that afternoon, they would have been regaled by peals of laughter and snatches of songs, the lyrics of which would have made a soldier blush. Gimli’s spirited rendition of ‘Every Sword Needs A Scabbard’ confirmed for Aragorn that it was just as well Arwen had chosen not to accompany them. And as for Legolas’s performance of ‘The Lay of Nimrodel’… well, the King was forced to admit that the hand gestures did add a certain something.

Eventually the time came for the companions to make their way back to Minas Tirith. Legolas fetched the horses as Aragorn and Gimli reluctantly packed away the scant remains of their meal. The Elf stood talking quietly to the chestnut mare and, as Aragorn came over to prepare his own horse, he thought he saw an extra gleam in his friend’s bright eyes. He imagined that Thranduil had seen that gleam on many occasions when Legolas was a youngster, probably just before one of the older Princes became mysteriously covered in mud, or found a baby spider in his bed. Legolas noticed Aragorn’s querulous look and gave the King one of his most disarming smiles. The majority of people, thought Aragorn, would be entirely convinced by an expression of such angelic innocence, but he’d known the Elf for more years that he cared to remember and therefore became extremely suspicious. He began to regret his earlier comment about taxes.

Aragorn mounted his horse and prepared to move off. Legolas and Gimli were settling themselves upon Laeriel. Legolas encouraged the horse to follow Aragorn’s stallion and all seemed well as she began to walk. After a few strides, Legolas suddenly turned around to Gimli.

“Oh, we’ve forgotten to pack the… er…mumble, mumble…” and, lifting his leg over the horse’s neck, he dropped lightly to the ground.

“The what? Legolas, we haven’t forgotten anything. I checked,” Gimli remonstrated.

The Elf pretended to be scanning the edge of the lake for something. Laeriel began to walk towards the water.

“Erm…Legolas?” Gimli lunged forward to grab the horse’s mane as she splashed into the lake enthusiastically. “Legolas!”

“I thought I saw it here earlier,” muttered the Elf, his eyes studiously averted from the paddling horse and her panicking rider.

“Legolas!” Laeriel was wading further in. The water was up to her belly now. “Legolas!”

At last the Elf looked round and gasped in mock amazement at the dwarf’s plight.

“Gracious me, Gimli! How did that happen? Laeriel! What do you think you are doing?”

The mare glanced briefly at her master, who smiled and nodded at her encouragingly. She turned her head and waded deeper into the lake so that Gimli had to lift his feet up to keep them dry. She stopped only when the water was half way up her quarters, and stood looking round at Legolas, snorting as if sharing the joke.

“Get this thing out of the lake!” yelled Gimli from his precarious position curled up on the horse’s back.

“Thing? Oh, dear! I did warn you that she understands every word, didn’t I?” Legolas asked, as Laeriel took another step into the water.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry. I meant horse! Get this horse out of the water! Talk to it, Legolas! Aragorn! Come and help me!”

Aragorn was rocking with silent laughter. He toyed briefly with the idea of riding into the lake to rescue Gimli, but decided that, on the whole, it was more fun to watch him struggle.

“Right!” shouted Gimli, slipping a little and accidentally dipping a foot into the water. “Right! What do I have to do to get you to talk some sense into this animal, Elf?”

Legolas was standing on the water’s edge gazing at the sky with a beatific smile. “Well now,” he pondered, absentmindedly twisting a strand of hair around his finger. “What do you have to do? Hmmm! Let me think.”

“Well?”

“I believe an apology is in order, don’t you?”

“Apology? What for?”

“Have you still got that parchment, Aragorn? I may have to make a list.”

Gimli looked down into the water speculatively. Perhaps I could swim, he thought. I’ve never learned how, but surely Legolas wouldn’t let me drown. Would he? Well, Aragorn definitely wouldn’t. He slipped again and plunged his other foot into the water – the deep, cold water.

“Alright! Alright!”

“And it has to be a sincere apology, mind you.”

In a small voice the dwarf began, “I’m sorry I got you wet and called you Leggy and said that Ithilien was a—”

“Pardon?” yelled the Elf, theatrically cupping his ear with his hand.

Gimli rolled his eyes and started again. “I’m sorry I got you—”

“We were hoping for something a bit more formal than that, weren’t we Laeriel?”

The mare tossed her head, causing Gimli to grab even more tightly at her mane. He swallowed his pride before the lake swallowed him. “I, Gimli, Lord of Aglarond,” the dwarf said tiredly, as if every word were being dragged out of him. “Do must humbly beseech the forgiveness of His Royal Blondness, Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Mirkwo—”

“Ah!” Legolas held up an admonitory finger.

“Prince of Eryn Lasgalen and Lord of…” Legolas raised one delicate eyebrow at the dwarf. Gimli sighed. “Lord of a Very Important and Much Beloved Colony of Elves in Southern Ithilien…” Legolas closed his eyes in satisfaction as Gimli’s reluctant words washed over him. The only thing, he reflected, that could possibly make this moment better, would be if his father and Gloin were here to witness it.

“Try that once again for me, mellon-nin! Just a little louder!”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

THE END


End file.
